Two Old Farts Sitting On A Roof


Imagine two rocking chairs balanced atop the roof on the left. Now, imagine no possessions. It’s easy if you try.

From below, it all looked so precarious. A very slanted rooftop, nearly three stories high, two rocking chairs, two very old men, Hank and Tom, and a cooler filled with beer; a sure recipe for disaster. Rest assured, these two guys knew more about the laws of gravity than most anybody.

Tom twisted open a beer, the hiss was satisfying to the ear, as he belched silently. He pounded the back of his head three times, until he belched correctly, loud and overtly gassy. “When we were kids, we used to play cops and cops.”

Hank smiled, it sounded like paper crinkling, which complimented his wrinkled onionskin paper face. “That’s queer. We used to play cowboys and cowboys.”

Tom looked directly into the sun. It was painful, but this was his new bad habit since he gave up smoking cigarettes. “Our generation might be the last to embrace non-conflict.”

“Shame.” Hank took a long swig.

Tom blinked hard. “I have a sinking feeling that I’m going to commit a hate crime.”

Hank spit the beer out of his mouth. “That’s plain crazy redundant talk. All crimes are hate crimes.”

“I reckon you’re as correct as the rain about to roll in.” Tom rocked gently in his chair.

Hank joined him in the rocking, as the high beams of the roof creaked. “And another thing, crime doesn’t pay.”

1 thought on “Two Old Farts Sitting On A Roof

  1. Pingback: Two Old Farts Sitting On A Train | The Home Of DJ Sung Mo Koo

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